


I'd love to see you dance

by fromunderthegaytree



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Arguing, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insults, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Munchausen, Secret Crush, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthegaytree/pseuds/fromunderthegaytree
Summary: Pete finds himself troubled when he lands himself into Happy Volts asylum for the summer. Diagnosed with Munchausen with no friends, he expects his summer vacation at the mental institute to be dull. He meets mysterious and brash Gary, who he admires and hates. As the summer goes on and Pete learns more about him, will their friendship prevail or fall to ruins?





	I'd love to see you dance

“Please, you don’t know what you’re doing.” He pleaded from the backseat of his mother’s SUV. He saw her eyes in the rearview mirror, he used to see sympathy in them but they were cold. Cold like stones.

“Peter, you need this,” she sighed, frustrated with her disobedient son, “they’ll fix you.” She countered. He didn’t reply to his mother, he focused on the loose red thread from his white and red striped tee. She stopped at a red light, braking abruptly which made him jerk forward. She grabbed an object and began filing her pink acrylic nails.

“It was only-” He began but she immediately cut him off with a strangled scoff.

“Only?! No, sir, what you did was slice your arms up.. For what? Attention?” She retorted, her voice wavering - promising tears from his delicate mother. He glanced down at his arms, his two arms were bandaged up. He wouldn’t lie, he wanted attention. He wasn’t severely depressed, the doctors called it: Munchausen Syndrome.

She pressed her sandaled foot on the accelerator, she shook her head. She glanced at him over her narrow shoulder. “It was okay when you faked sick just so I could pay attention to you put it got too much when-”

This time, Pete would have to step in. “When I faked a fatal illness? When I pretended I had cancer or was it when I sliced my arms open?” His voice was rising, his frustration showing more and more with each venom filled syllable.

“Stop it!” She shouted at him, her eyes were red. Her clumpy mascara ran down her cheeks, stifling sobs. “Why did you hurt yourself? Did you think I didn’t care about you..? That that was the only way I’d care?” She cried, shaking her head.

The rest of the car ride was silent, the only noise was the traffic outside as they drove their way to Happy Volts. Pete couldn’t lie to himself, he felt overcome with guilt for upsetting his mother. He knew she cared, he felt too headstrong to apologize.

The SUV neared Happy Volts Asylum, high fences guarded the building. He watched frantically the scene behind the chainlink fence. A patient, wearing a long blue hospital gown ran around the garden as two orderlies chased him. He felt fearful, he swallowed what little saliva remained in his suddenly dry mouth.

“Here we are.” She stated in a monotone, reaching into the backseat and taking his hand. He held her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He dreaded going into the hospital but he didn’t have any other choices. She parked, stepping out of the car into the hot weather. It was nice out, Pete was dubious on if he’d be let outside often.

“Mom..” He began gingerly, his voice hoarse from screaming at his parents hours before. She turned to him, her smile was taut and false. He didn’t know what to say, he felt at loss at words. His mother looked absolutely heartbroken, she pulled him into a hug. It lasted shortly - an officer walked outside and interrupted them.

“Hello, you must be Heidi Kowalski, is this Peter?” He was tall, around six feet tall and balding. He appeared forty-eight but Pete guessed he could be younger. Working in an asylum must be a recipe to premature aging. She blinked, letting go of Pete. She left her hand on his shoulder protectively.

“Yes, this is Peter.” She beamed, kissing Pete’s temple softly. He would’ve whined and said she was embarrassing him but he was too scared to speak.

“Munchausen, huh? We don’t get too many of those cases.” He joked, revealing his yellow teeth. His mother widened her eyes at his joke.

Thought Pete as he looked down. “I’m Reeds.” He introduced cheerily which struck Pete with suspicion.

“We’ll lead you in, then I’ll introduce him to the other kids in his ward.” He informed. She nodded, sighing, evidently disappointed. She turned and went to grab Pete’s hand, she accidentally groped his bandaged forearm and immediately let go.

“I’m going to go get my bag.” He chuckled nervously, walking away towards the back of the SUV. He popped the trunk open and reached in and grabbed his duffel. It was a duffel that his parents bought him for camp, the summer would be two months in a hospital instead..

He briskly returned, the man glanced at his duffel. “Got a person in that thing, son?” He joked once more, evoking nothing but silence. He cleared his throat and waved them over as he walked to the front of the gate. “Chaz, open the gate.” He ordered. There was a loud buzzing, the officer grabbed the knob and walked in.

“Don’t mind Reggie, recreation time ended a few minutes ago and he’s a little stubborn.” He motioned with a nod to the patient being subdued by two orderlies. Pete stared at patient, he took another step closer to the officer and his mother. He could tell that she was already at unease with letting him go, hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late.

They walked to the door, which wasn’t locked like the gate entrance. He had heard rumours about the building. The front desk would be clean but the hospital rooms wouldn’t be.

Pete kept quiet as the officer waved at the two orderlies outside. He caught his eyes on a tall statue in the middle of the yard. It stood tall, weariness showing on the faded features of the statue. His mother tugged on his hand before pulling him inside.

There was a front desk with an indifferent receptionist sitting. She glanced at Pete, quickly, her eyes fell to his bandaged arms before she returned her gaze to Reeds. His mother stepped in and quietly began to discuss between the two other adults. He knew clearly that she wanted to exclude him from her conversation by how quietly she spoke.

He stared at his shoes and tried relaxing.. to no avail. He felt on edge, nervous. He promised himself that he didn’t care much what other people said. However, the rumours of Block B being for the crazy violent schizophrenics ached at the back of his stressed mind. He bit the inside of his cheek.

His mother suddenly turned to him, she smiled weakly. He stared at her, giving her his biggest frown. Her eyes blinked and they appeared glassy. With guilty horror, he realized she was close to crying. He stepped up and hugged her tightly - better than the hug outside.

“Petey..” She murmured, sniffling quietly. “I want you to get better, you’re just sick.” He didn’t know why he felt so suddenly provoked by her words. He didn’t know why he did it either, all his so-called ‘gimmicks’, it was impulsive.

“I promise, momma..” He consoled, pulling away from the suffocating embrace. She nodded and kissed his forehead, she turned away and walked out. Reeds stared at him, stupidly like a useless guppy. He clenched his teeth, turning to the man.

“Great, time to go to your room.” He lilted out with false joy. Pete nodded, resisted the itching urge to glare at him. He followed the man down the hallways. He remembered his doubts, he decided to speak up.

“Is it true.. That block B is for the violent types?” He barely managed to croak out. He was afraid, his legs felt like jell-o as he pressed himself further on. They entered block A, he heard chattering from the far recreation room nearby.

“Yeah, don’t worry, Petey, I’m going to show you your room.” He replied, stopping at a metal door, thick with chipped white paint. It was definitely not an industrial door. The door opened with a shrill squeak, his left hand reached inside - flicking on a light switch.

He stepped in, waving Pete inside encouragingly. He did so gingerly, blinking. The room was poorly lit, fluorescent lights lined the ceiling scarcely. By the paint on the door, he could’ve guessed the paint would be the same. Bland white, it almost made him feel suffocated, like the walls would close in. The bed lied at the other end of the small room. Thin sheets with a thin blue cover on it, beside the bed was a short metallic nightstand. At least they offered him a lamp, even if it was beyond hideous.

“So how do you like it?” He asked, hands on his hips - implying he was somewhat proud of the room. He was disappointed with the nakedness of the room, it utterly depressing. He could imagine himself sitting on the bed - the mattress probably stiff as a 2 x 4 before he’d overdose on some pills. The morbid thought made him snort quietly to himself, he quickly stopped afterwards.

“It looks.. Comfortable.” He commented, setting down his duffel bag onto his bed. He sat down on it, his hypothesis was right: the bed was stiff as a rock. He frowned at the thought of him trying to sleep on it. He expected Reeds to announce his departure before leaving him so he could cry into his cheap pillow.

“It’s dinner time.” He informed the teenager. He hopped off his bed and wiped tears of fatigue out of his eyes. “Don’t worry, you know what?” He asked, smiling wide.

He shook his head as he walked out of the room. The hallway suddenly felt like an open field compared to his room. “Well, there’s kids from your school.” He said, attempting to cheer up the obviously morose boy. Yeah! The kids from his school, the ones who trip him, throw spitballs at him and pick him last in gym class.

“Really?” He inquired, his tone flat as he only wanted to go back to sleep. They found themselves into the enormous cafeteria. It was exactly like school, except that they were mostly adults and the majority of the kids were squished at one table.

He recognized some of the kids, he only brushed his sight over them. He decided that keeping with Reeds would be the safest method to ensuring security. He led him to the line, Pete waited behind a tall bony adult. He looked at the orderlies behind the counter. They all appeared sullen, darks bags under their lifeless eyes as they served patients.

Pete wondered why Reeds was so cheerful and chipper? The possibility of him being either sadistic or crazy himself flickered before it was his turn. He looked over the food, sniffing as he tried to get an odor.

Nasty, green pea soup; dry, burnt casserole and good old fashioned tomato soup. His safest bet would be the third option. He didn’t bother asking, he timidly pointed at the pot of soup. The orderly mockingly smiled at him but nonetheless served his meal. He grabbed a bottle of water before sitting at an empty table.

Reeds sat down, protecting him from other patients that curiously looked at the short boy. They either wanted to befriend, interrogate or fight him. Pete opened his bottle of water and took a sip.

“Most of these people look.. normal.” He stated, taking a spoonful of soup, relieved that he didn’t burn his tongue. Reeds waved at some patients.

“Most of ‘em are junkies.” He reminded. Pete glanced over at the table with teenagers his age, he gulped nervously. One boy stared intensely at him, not even looking away when Pete caught him.

Pete was unable to distinguish who he was, he knew that he had brown hair and wore pale green scrubs. He tried his best to finish eating, ignoring his staring.

Afterwards, Pete’s hopes to get to sleep were replaced with curiosity. Reeds had explained how the day would go: wake up, breakfast, counselling, recreation time outside, lunch, group therapy, recreation time inside and dinner. The schedule he was given sounded dreary and pointless. That night, he was unable to sleep. He didn’t have his watch with him, instead there was a clock on the wall.

He had gotten into his bed which had been proven itchy alongside stiff. He tossed and turned for a few minutes, it seemed. It turned out to be twelve and he still couldn’t get some shut eye. He felt palpably nervous and depressed. He missed his parents, home.

* * *

 

He managed to fall asleep at one in the morning. He felt exhausted when an orderly flicked on the light. At first, he felt completely confused as to what was happening then the bitter familiarness of the hospital rushed back to him.

“Hey, get up.” A gruff voice barked before walking away, leaving the practically blinding lights to rip comfort away from the teenager. He got out of bed and stretched, recognizing kinks in his necks that he didn’t have before yesterday.

He stared at clock on the wall once more. It was summer vacation except he had to wake up the same hour he did for school. This wasn’t how he planned to spend his summer break. Somebody had laid the mandatory scrubs on the end of his bed. He could already tell that the day would get worse.

After dressing up, he walked into the cafeteria. He walked slowly, on edge because nobody was there to protect him. He saw the same group of teenagers, huddled together like football players. He took a step forward but stopped.

One boy turned around, glaring at him. Pete recognized him as Constantinos, the depressed kid from school. He walked over, hesitantly - as if he was treading on thin ice. He cleared his throat and waved sheepishly.

His nasally voice broke the odd silence. “What are you doing here, jerk?” For the one minute that Pete figured that the teens from his school would be nice to him he realized that it wasn’t true. They didn’t care if it was class or an asylum: they hated each other.

“Long story.” Pete explained, not wanting to reveal his psychological problems to people who would use that information as blackmail. He hid his forearms slightly behind his back but Constantinos glanced quickly at it and stared, perplexed at Pete.

Pete ignored his quizzical look and grabbed a tray. He didn’t expect a four course meal. He wasn’t disappointed when he was handed a bowl of porridge and a juice box. With an amused smile on his face, he compared the bland cooking to Edna’s awful lunches.

He noticed that there weren’t any empty tables, most of them were filled with orderlies and patients. He sat beside Constantinos, confident enough that he wouldn’t hurt him. Constantinos hated everyone but he couldn’t harm a fly. He heard someone scuttle to the table before slamming the plastic tray down on the table. Hesitantly, he looked up to the source of the noise. A boy was quickly shovelling spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth as he glared him down.

It took him a few seconds to recognize him as the guy who stared at him yesterday. He was doing it again. He had mousy brown hair parted to the left and dark brown eyes, narrowed to slits. A conspicuous scar started from above his eyebrow and across his left eyes.

After the uncomfortable moment of staring, Pete finally realized he was from school. He was usually absent from most classes. He had been in Pete’s music class but he dropped out after a few classes. He wondered if he knew him, he wasn’t in most school activities.

“Hey, I know you.” Pete said, not feeling even a tad bit less scared of him. He nodded and stopped eating, setting his spoon down beside his partly congealed meal.

“You’re the girly kid on campus.” He stated, his tone serious without a trace of good humour. Pete blinked, frowning at the accusation. He didn’t know how to reply confidently to his insult. He decided to take the pacifist response to his brashness.

“I’m Pete.” He beamed, forcing a trembling smile which showed how fearful he was of the boy across from him. He let the smile fall quickly, concerned with his image. Was he really the girly kid?

“Okay, so?” He raised an eyebrow as he begun to sneer. Pete glanced at his cold breakfast, losing his appetite. He forced himself to look him in the eye as he frowned, showing his displeasure from his behaviour. The boy couldn’t care less, he returned back to eating. However, he continued to look fixedly at him.

“What’s your name?” He asked curiously, trying to keep his patience from wearing thin. His dark eyes grazed the bandages on his arms, Pete sheepishly pulled them away and tucked them beneath the table.

“Quit the small talk.” Gary got up, finished with his meal. He balanced the tray on one arm before his hand reached out to flick Pete’s left temple. Pete flinched, rubbing at the irritated spot on his head. “See you in group therapy, Pete.” He walked away, leaving him dumbfounded. He couldn’t wrap his head around why he behaved like so.

* * *

 

Counselling had been exactly how he expected it to be. Some psychiatric stiff trying to dig under Pete’s most secretive memories. He had felt completely blocked off from the world. While his doctor began rambling on about what was wrong with him, he thought on deeper meanings. He was obsessed with the boy he had seen at breakfast. He seemed almost unreal. He looked exactly like everyone else at Bullworth: weary eyes, permanent frown and same irritability. To Pete, he seemed captivating by how he kept staring at him but treated him like dirt. It was bizarre.

Counselling must’ve disappointed his doctor, he wasn’t able to find his root. Pete didn’t feel ready to reveal why he did the things he did. Especially with a stranger. He was let outside into the courtyard. There was a plethora of shambling patients in scrubs, Pete did what he did best. He hid in a spot that no one would find him. He needed time to be himself without worrying with the people near him; mental patients or not.

He hid behind one of the trimmed neat shrubs, facing the sun. It was hot, enough to make sweat trickle from his forehead. Back home, he would go grab a popsicle from the freezer and sit on the patio. It somehow felt like he was a million miles away. He laid his head on his knees and thought about what he would do when he left.

He heard the grass ruffle near him. He froze, his spine stiffened as he slowly looked up. His heart skipped a beat, flashes of cold rattling his back. He swallowed, blinking in confusion. The same boy from breakfast that stared at him sat across from him. His name was still yet to be announced, for the time being, Pete decided to call him: staring guy.

“What do you want?” He demanded, surprised at how authoritative he sounded. As expected, his bossiness had no effect on staring guy. The guy seemed unphased by him, indifference evident on his mopey face. He was starting to piss Pete off.

“Relax.” He reassured, his tone far from soothing. Pete did relax, he began scratching a rash on his knee. He told his parents it was psoriasis so they’d check into it. Staring guy’s eyes followed Pete’s hand, watching him scratch.

“I’ve seen you, you know.” Pete informed, expecting him to shrug with indifference. He did just as predicted. He honestly couldn’t care if Pete had seen God in the flesh. Coyly, he cast his eyes to the grass, green strands stirred around by the summer’s breeze.

“You have.” He acknowledged, a smirk tucked behind his flat lips. There was another silence, Pete wished he could disappear. “Why are you here?” He inquired, his eyebrow--the one with the scar rose. He promised himself he wouldn’t reveal his problems to the doc, why would he tell him. He forced a glare at the staring guy.

“What’s your name?” He ignored his question, he had his own questions. Why did he speak to him even if he was some lame girly kid; according to staring guy.

“I’m Gary.” He replied, grumbling out his name. Pete hid a smile. He breathed in the fresh air, glancing up to him. Pete had always found it unbearably difficult to keep eye contact with people. He couldn’t help but feel as though they could know what he was thinking, like he was a transparent jellyfish.

“I have ‘Munchausen’, got shipped off here after my recent accident.” He confessed, avoiding eye contact. He then realized he probably didn’t know what he was explaining. He elaborated, stammering over his words like he did in school. “It’s like, when..” He rose his hands away from the grass, rolling them in the humid air to find words on how to explain. “I guess I faked a bunch of illnesses to achieve the attention from my parents and everyone else.” He breathed out, a weight lifted from his chest miraculously.

There was peculiar shine in Gary’s eyes, that showed he was intrigued. He probably expected Pete to tell him he was completely depressed--that he wanted to throw himself off a cliff. “Did you fake having depression?” His voice had a lilt, he was amused with his backstory. Pete didn’t know. School had been hard, he did cry in the bathrooms and watched television in the dorm room where he’d cry without noticing.

“I don’t know,” his stomach felt nauseous, like his intestines were all tangled up like skip rope, “probably, doesn’t matter now that I’m here.” Why did he have to reveal so much to a stranger? He was mortified, glowering down at the grass.

“I’ve been here longer than you, way longer.” Gary began, slowly and hesitantly. Pete automatically looked up to observe the uncertainty on the boy’s scarred face. “ADD, parents dropped me off, I know how you feel, abandoned.”

For the first time since he arrived, somebody understood him. Pete offered him a boyish grin and Gary offered a crooked smile of his own.

Doctor Reynolds paced around the circle of chairs, sat down were acne faced teens. Gary had sat right beside him, only because there was only that seat left. The doctor began speaking about controlling emotions, as if they were beasts to be tamed. Pete had discovered that he wasn’t an emotional huntsman a long time ago. According to his mother, he was easy to upset before she would be reassuring him by saying it was a good artistic trait. Liar.

He recognized everyone in the circle. He was two inches tall and nobody knew his presence. He was another forgettable face unless it came to giving it a shiner. There was depressed Constantinos, who he himself claimed that everyone hated him. Damon West sat, fuming and by the way he glowered at the fellow students around him--he had anger issues. Surprisingly, Angie was there, looking as morose and angry as the other students around her.

“She cracked.” Gary said, fidgeting around in his chair as he tried to get comfortable. Pete watched from the corner of his eye before he whispered to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Like an egg, Petey..” He murmured to him so that Doctor Reynolds wouldn’t catch them and lose her patience. “Her mom’s a tiger, the ‘go-home-study-till-you-drop’ kind.” He explained before casting his attention to the Doctor. Not that it would matter. Pete noticed that Gary seemed to have trouble concentrating.

“Damon, what do you do when you’re angry?” He asked softly, as everyone’s head turned to the jock. Pete thought it was impossible but he looked even scarier in scrubs instead of his letterman jacket. He quickly glanced around the group, flaring his nostrils. His eyes were rimmed with red.. Had he been crying?

“I play sports.” He replied, quietly--almost below a whisper. In horror, Pete realized that Happy Volts had changed the brash jock. She nodded in respect, humming in content at his answer. She suddenly turned to Angie, her eyes widened when she realized the Doc had her eyes set on her.

“When you’re stressed, how do you react and what do you do to relieve stress?” There was a silence in the fluorescent lit room. Pete wondered what she’d ask Gary, he was genuinely curious. To him, he was like a mood ring, showing its true colours only in a certain mood.

“I pet my bunny.” She answered, a coy giggle breaking free from her lips. She laughed when she was being bullied--when she was nervous. The doctor turned away from the slightly giggling girl and stared at Constantinos. He sat back in his plastic chair, his facial expression showing that he was truly displeased with the situation he had found himself in.

“When you’re sad..” She began, gingerly which was bizarre to Pete. She hadn’t been that cautious when asking Damon, why was she so nervous? Gary, to his right, rolled his eyes as Constantinos began to drawl out his answer. Ah, he must’ve been here as long as Gary.

“Gary Smith.” She spun around, her shoes squeaking against the floor. “When you’re angry, what do you do?” Her tone wasn’t so gentle and careful, it now sounded hostile. He must’ve been on her bad side.

“I cry just like all the girls in this room.” He looked around the circle, a long glance around. Everyone either looked enraged or near tears. Pete guessed he look near mortified and near tear. There wasn’t anything they could do to him. Pete found it courageous on his part but unfair. Did that include him? The doctor only glared at him, shaking her head with distaste.

“Fine, if it helps you..” She sighed out, rigid with annoyance. “Peter, what about you? When you’re frightened?” The word ‘frightened’ immediately rose red flags. Everyone could be sad or mad but frightened? He’d sound like a huge coward.

“I don’t know.. I don’t get scared easily.” He lied, straight through his clenched teeth. Nobody believed him, he couldn’t blame them. He was short and skittish. Group therapy was definitely not improving his self esteem.

* * *

 

Dinner was far from delicious. Pete hadn’t minded when they served him Campbells chunky soup for lunch, unfortunately it was on the dinner’s menu too. He sat at the table alone but not really alone. There were waves of patients in scrubs near him, chattering and screaming. The constant buzzing of people got to him, it crawled beneath his skin. He believed he would snap and attack someone.. No, that wasn’t him. That was Gary, he would never harm anyone just because he lost it.

Yes, Gary was a natural disaster, like the tornado from ‘The Wizard of Oz’. He was certain that would stop thinking of him, either it being him admiring his cunningness or hating his blunt rudeness. He only cared about him because he was the only person that wasn’t an orderly or doctor to talk to him so far.

Like Pete was thinking of the devil, Gary sat beside him. He was practically trembling with energy as he wore a smile on his face. Pete quickly looked around, searching for the source of his happiness. All that sat in front of them were patients and Campbell’s soup. Why was he was so animated? Unless he really liked the soup which Pete doubted.

“Nice crap you pulled back at the session.” He said, almost laughing except it was caught in his throat before he closed his mouth back into the wide grin. Pete wanted to punch him, he took it back. If he had the chance, he would pull back his bandaged arm before thrusting his knuckles into his face and knocking the stupid grin off his face. Why didn’t he and what was he waiting for?

Briefly, he looked at his knuckles, considering his options. “What? You mean what I said about being scared?” He didn’t mean to sound insulted by Gary’s statement but he just did, because he was. At least he wasn’t a wiseass to the doctor, at least he didn’t act like a tough shot. The asylum was probably a second home to Gary.

“Mhm, yeah, that was BS.” He sneered, eating a spoonful of soup. Pete blinked and stared at him, grinning like a cheshire cat. What did he get in for? Being an asshole?

“Damon was right there.” He retorted, breaking out into a sweat. He knew he was getting frustrated and embarrassed. He ogled at his tormentor’s smirk, his palms went clammy. He was going to tear his throat out if he didn’t just leave him alone. “Besides who’re you to judge? You think you’re so cool by talking back to the Doctor who you’ve known for half your life?” He spoke quickly, afraid that he’d get punched before saying the final word. His voice had cracked multiple times during his comeback.

By how Gary jaw dropped slightly, showing how he hadn’t expect Pete to talk back, Pete knew he got the desired effect. The last laugh. In the first time in months, he felt confident and defiant towards everything in the universe.

“Look, I’m sorry,” He admitted, gingerly putting his spoon down, “I shouldn’t have messed with you, I just wanted to know why you said it.” He confessed quietly. Pete almost couldn’t hear him because of the cafeteria’s loud cacophony.

“Yeah right..” He mumbled to himself, his eyes fell bashfully down to his bowl. He didn’t believe him even when he wanted to. He wanted to trust a familiar face from school but Gary’s outbursts prevented him from doing so.

“No really, you’re better than the meathead jock, depressed pissbaby and pushover here.” His idea of a compliment was utterly bizarre, but Pete would take it. Part of him wanted to remind Gary that he was a little bit of a pushover but he resisted his honesty. Pete didn’t reply, he nodded slowly to show that he accepted his apology.

It was silent between the two, Pete decided to start eating his soup before it got cold. Gary cleared his throat. “Friends? Like, a truce or something?” He proposed, leaving his hand out beside Pete. A handshake to seal the deal. Pete could move on, ignore Gary or spit in his soup or he could shake his hand and have a chance at a friendship; even if it wasn’t a traditional one.

“Okay.” He answered, taking his hand and shaking it. Gary’s hand was calloused and dry--like snake skin. Pete knew his hands were probably sweaty and gross, he felt self-conscious but shook his hand to commence the truce.

Pete half expected him to ignore him and leave him alone. It’s what he wanted, to be left alone. Gary decided that the handshake they shared was another way to announce that they were to be partners in crime. Gary had told him about it at breakfast while Pete scarfed down an eggo waffle. He could only nod, mostly because his mouth was full of food.

* * *

 

The rest of the week was far more different in comparison of his first few days. Gary was very talkative, Pete’s mother would have said that his mouth ran 100 miles per hour. As the week ensued, Pete only learnt a few things about his so called: Partner in Crime. For one, Gary was very much a chatterbox, Pete couldn’t tell if it was because of his ADD or not. Another trait that he possessed was cynicism.

They shared many conversations about which students at school they hated. Pete could think of a few people he hated but Gary could’ve written a novel with all the names of people he detested. As long as it wasn’t him he loathed, he didn’t care. He refused to answer questions about himself, either he moved the conversation along to another subject or he rolled his eyes.

Pete wasn’t planning on ignoring his questions either. It wasn’t a radical revolutionary idea but he decided to ask Gary smaller questions just so he could hear him. He could understand why Gary didn’t want to answer when he asked why he was brought in here.

By the end of his first week, he knew meaningless facts about Gary. His last name was Smith, even more common than ‘Kowalski’. When he had told Gary that, he suppressed a laugh and it made him feel good that he almost made him laugh. He wanted a sports car or a cadillac and he loved the colour green. Did that mean he liked the Asylum’s uniform more than him?

He liked the scent of burnt leather, boat gas and spearmint. The worst gift he had received was a pair of jeans.

Pete thought most of their conversations were worthless. Even if Pete was eager to hear his answers, he always wanted to know more. Like did he like his mother? What was the relationship between his parents? Despite all of his unanswered questions, he listened to Gary’s lame stories about giving one of the greasers a wedgie.

Again, their conversations had never ventured past ‘small talk’. Except, they did share a moment, a moment that had frightened Pete as well as please him. It was a Tuesday and Pete sat in the recreational room. His primary activities consisted of lounging on the plaid couch in front of the small boxy TV that showed Soap Operas. The episode that he was watching had been particularly boring. He morosely lifted his head, looking over at Gary. His dull brown eyes stared at the screen before they blinked and he was looking at him.

“I miss something a lot.” He admitted, looking at Gary a little more boldly than he did at the beginning of the week. Gary seemed to care a little more about what he said but it could simply be an illusion.

“What?” He asked, evidently furrowing at his brows at Pete’s troubled facial expression. He missed a lot: his mom; dumb, fake friends; his dog, Mr. Noodle. He missed music the most out of it. He itched to hear some music.

“Music..” He said. Gary nodded, in a ‘that-makes-sense’ but didn’t turn away, knowing Pete would ask him something else. This was how it was. “What’s your favourite song?”

“Hm.. I didn’t really have one.” He shrugged, snobbily rolling his eyes and sighing theatrically. “I’ve been here for some time,” his neck flushed, he was bashful from admitting the time he had to be admitted at Happy Volts, “they play a record sometimes, they have a record player, it’s Doctor Reynolds’.” He looked down at his calloused hands before his mouth twitched to a hint of a smile.

It was a quiet, tired smile. Pete knew he was very sincere. Out of all the questions he had like ‘what’s wrong with you?’ or ‘why are you so cruel?’, they didn’t matter at the moment for all he wanted to know was his favourite song.

“In Dreams by Roy Orbison.. That’s my favourite song.” He sighed out bashfully, hiding a grin. Pete beamed at how Gary had told him timidly. The moment between them faded as soon as Gary looked back at the screen. Some character was dumping his girlfriend. His eyes lingered on him for a few seconds more, Gary had trace of a smile on his lips.

Pete hauled himself of the couch and went to Doctor Reynolds, who was sitting at a table, writing paperwork. He assumed it was important but she jumped with joy when he walked over. She probably wanted an excuse to wiggle away from working.

“Hello, Pete, what can I do you for?” Pete thought that she was a brilliant Doctor, better than his counsellor. However, she spoke to patients like they were mindless lobotomized toddlers. It annoyed Pete, especially Gary.

“Uh, sorry,” he began, hesitating as he tried figuring out how he’d formulate his request, “can you play one of the records?” His face reddened and felt hot from embarrassment.

“Really? Why?” She pulled off her bubbly glasses and set them on the desk before her. She stared at him knowingly. He almost felt like it was a bad idea to ask.

“I wanna play a song for Gary, he’s a bit bored.” He replied, scratching the back of his neck like he usually did when he was nervous. She broke out into a grin which made the sides of her eyes crinkle. She nodded almost erratically.

He returned back to the recreation room and settled back beside Gary. None of them were interested by the show, which was something they had in common. His heart pounded as he felt palpitations. If he knew something about Gary, it was that he was unpredictable. He could become angry, embarrassed or happy.

Doctor Reynolds carried in a portable blue dansette record player. His heart leaped as he quickly returned to look at the TV. Gary glanced up and narrowed his vicious eyes, suspicious. He slowly turned his head to Pete, ready to ask him ‘what the hell?’ Other patients stared in anticipation at her as she set it up.

He heard the first chord, then an almost twangy voice began to sing. Like watching a science experiment take place or watching the sunset, he watched Gary. His eyes widened slightly with recognition, his smile slowly spread cheek to cheek. He looked at Pete, who sat nervously as he sweat buckets.

The patients listened, some of them familiar with the song while others weren’t. Pete watched as Gary tapped his feet to the song, in a pleased subtle way. He turned to him, still grinning before mouthing ‘thank you’. In that moment, Pete felt guiltily proud as he admired Gary’s appreciation for the song.  
He didn’t get up to dance or sing, not like a musical. Pete imagined that Gary liked to dance or sing when people weren’t watching. It struck him that Gary wasn’t the person to dance or sing, he was too uptight. Maybe he didn’t like himself enough to dance, or thought it was childish. If the room was empty, if it was just him and Gary, would he dance? Later at dinner, he did ask him if he danced or sing. Gary had to be in a spectacularly mysterious mood because all he did was smile slyly and shrug.

* * *

 

Although they had shared a deep moment with Roy Orbison’s hypnotic vocals, things hadn’t changed much. Gary was more open and asked Pete questions himself. His questions either ranged from ‘do you have a pet?’ or ‘are you afraid of dying?’. He wasn’t foolish, he knew trying to ask Gary a personal question wouldn’t land him any answers. It upset him minimally but not so much, he was busy being homesick.

Pete’s favourite time of day was when they were let outside. He didn’t mind if it was dreary out or not, as long as he could breathe fresh air. He had adopted the same spot where Gary had officially spoken to him, behind some shrubbery.

Once, while they lied on the grass, Gary had enlightened him with useful information. While Pete closed his eyes before covering his eyes from the harsh sun, Gary decided to reveal a harmless secret.

“I miss home, especially just being able to hide out in my room and conspiring.” He sighed wistfully, turning his head before resting it on his upper arm. After years of looking up illnesses on the internet, Pete knew that laying your head on your arms could cause nerve damage. He didn’t say anything but snorted softly.

“Conspire about what?” He tried raising a brow playfully even if he did want to know. For a few seconds, Gary stared hesitantly at him.

“Life, aliens, teachers and school, things more important than human beings.” His free hand waved around animatedly. He could tell he was passionate about his conspiracies. For some lame reason, what Gary had said puzzled him.

“Do you believe in God?” He asked, carefully speaking. For the past few days, it had gotten worse. Harder for him to speak with Gary without his chest aching. He felt giddy when he made him laugh, a lot. He was more quiet now.

“I don’t know, do you?” What a classic Gary move. He’d typically ask Pete to answer before admitting what he thought. Why would he care about some shrimpy kid’s opinion.

“No.” Pete shook his head firmly, confirming his skepticism. His mother was religious, she prayed every night while he wondered why God created such a screwed up world. Gary didn’t reply, he just stared at the chainlink fence feet away from them.

“You’re such a woman.” He said, scoffing as he sat up. Pete jolted up, alarmed with what he said to him. A mixture of insult and anger coursed through his veins as he gaped at the taller boy. “It’s true, you’re such a chatterbox.”

“Not true!” He contended, staring down at Gary’s face. By the way he was smirking, he wasn’t going to take it back. Just when Pete began to feel impressive to Gary, he was proven wrong. He frowned deeply to show his disagreement to his statement. It also felt especially embarrassing, now that he was slowly developing heart wrenching feelings.

“Mhm, I’m calling you something for now on: femme-boy.” He knew some french, he was obliged to learn it when his parents visited France. The bathroom doors either said ‘gars’- for boys or ‘femmes’ - for girls. His cheeks burnt, he was convinced that he would cry soon if Gary continued to torment him. He stared down at his knees bashfully.

“That’s so stupid..” He muttered pathetically, getting up to leave. He had no idea where he’d go. Gary was his only friend, he probably go look for Constantinos or Angie. His hypothesis had been correct, he was going to cry. His eyes burnt with the threat of tears. He scrambled up quickly, to avoid being caught. He didn’t know how he’d feel if Gary saw him crying over a stupid nickname. Despite the accumulating tears, he was more angry than sad. Gary was just like every other stupid moron there.

He turned and began to scurry away, he felt something. Someone had grabbed his wrist, pulled it. Instinctively, Pete glanced to look at Gary. Thankfully, he hadn’t started to cry and he was confident that he wouldn’t.

“Are you PMSing?” He scoffed, laughing-snorting. His joke seemed to be so funny. Pete disagreed, he hated it. He hated when people teased him for not being traditionally masculine. Gary spoke a lot about how he loathed western civilisation. He was just like everyone, expecting someone to be normal, if not then they were a freak.

Pete stared at Gary, for a moment. The grin on his face didn’t fade, it was mischievous and devious. Some days, Pete thought that smile was charming and how he’d like to smile like that. He knew he had options, plenty.. He thought primarily about punching him, giving him a black eye so he could prove he was manly enough. Even worse, he could spit in his face and humiliate him. The thought at the rear of his brain said: kiss him.

He wanted to, he always did. Except, the more he stared at Gary’s stupid face, the more he hated him. He sat down, speechless as he refused to continue arguing. He’d let it pass, like he did the countless times before. Sometimes, Pete truly believed he had no backbone.

* * *

 

A few days later, Pete received incredible news. Reeds had told him that his mother would pick him up in a few weeks. It was about time, he was easily getting sick of the food, the people and Gary. He wasn’t an idiot. Any moron could figure out that the word ‘femme-boy’ angered him. Gary knew that he had finally crawled under Pete’s skin and had taken a peek at his vulnerability. Now, he wasn’t any better than Algernon or Bucky at school. A nerd that hid from insults, afraid to be teased. Gary’s insults were usually sprinkled in conversations but they slowly became more frequent and nastier-and bizarre.

Gary had told him that he was shorter than the little kids at school- and probably as dumb. The way he started insulting him more led Pete to believe something was wrong. Nobody hurt another person unless they had a reason. He had told him about his departure which did seem to piss him off. Gary was fighting something inside, an inner battle but he took it out on short, vulnerable Pete. To Pete’s dismay, he couldn’t figure out what was eating Gary Smith. He tried desperately to hate him and take a stand but he pitied him instead. He was especially ambivalent when it came to the choices if he should tell him he was harbouring a crush or not.

He grew even more homesick by the day. His scars had healed underneath the wrapped medical gauze. He had two weeks left and they had unwrapped his arms from the bandages. His scars were still apparent, soft pink lines on his arm. He regretted it. They were carved into his arms, they could reveal to everyone what kind of person Pete was. He hated it a lot more than staying at Happy Volts.

Unexpectedly, at lunch, Gary had congratulated him. They were eating pork and beans--Pete’s pork was burnt. Gary’s narrowed slits for eyes ventured to his arms. They held there for a few seconds before they softened with realization. Pete tried to ignore him, eating his beans.

“Congratulations.” He acknowledged between a bite. With hesitation, Pete sat puzzled as he tried to search for some sort of sarcasm in his tone. He couldn’t tell. Gary was usually too nasty to be nice, he hadn’t even told Pete why.

“Are you being sarcastic?” He mumbled, glowering up. He forced himself to glare at the boy across from him. He knew that Gary could be a deadpan snarker when he wanted to.

“No, I’m not, okay?” He retorted, rolling his eyes. He bet his mother or father told him that his eyes would stay that way if he continued to roll his eyes.

“Okay..” Pete whispered shamefully before looking down. Their conversation died then, Pete was scared. He didn’t know why Gary had changed so much since he met him. He didn’t know why he grew so mean, did he do something? He noticed that he was more paranoid. His eyes would flicker around suspiciously from time to time. Maybe it would be better if he distanced himself from his only friend and crush.

The next day, Pete was determined to do exactly what he intended to do. Keep away from Gary. Even if it hurt him. He decided that Angie was nice enough, even if she was way more popular than him. Damon had even warmed up to others, seeing that no other jocks were in the asylum. Angie was drawing on a table. Pete glanced over her shoulder to observe her sketch. A rose with its petals falling off. He smiled, impressed before she quickly turned around.

“Hi, Pete.” She took off her glasses to rub her eyes. She was tired, Pete felt likewise. He offered a shy wave, then he pointed to her drawing.

“It’s nice.” He observed which evoked a smile from her. She thanked him before looking around, confused by something.

“Where’s Gary?” She asked, noticing that he was alone. Were they that joined at the hip? Pete rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging with indifference. “I get it, he’s kind of..scary.” Scary wasn’t the word that Pete would use to describe Gary. The word he had in mind was reticent. He nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, he’s been a jerk.” He laughed nervously, dropping his arm to his side. He frowned, reflecting on his latest behaviour.

“I heard..” She began before leaning in towards Pete. He instinctively reciprocated her gesture, wanting to heard what she had to say. “I heard that Gary’s not taking his meds.” She giggled, her hand hiding her giggling mouth. He frowned, a wave of concern rushed over him. That couldn’t be good.

“He’s a psychopath, right?” She raised a brow, smiling. She was sweet, innocent therefore, she wasn’t ready to be yelled at by Gary. He was in the recreation room and he had managed to hear some of her gossip. He wasn’t too keen on it either. He stomped over and towered over her. Like a tree over a flower.

“What did you say about me?” He demanded, impatient and on the verge of a breakdown. Her eyes were as wide as saucers before she began to stammer. “Did you say I was a psychopath?” Patients in the room turned to watch. The tension was so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife. Pete’s heart thundered, he couldn’t let Gary get away with it. He could tell he would hit her, his arm was raised.

He turned quickly to glance at Pete, contempt displayed on his pale face. The next second, Gary was on the ground. He was sitting on his chest, as he writhed in pain. Pete looked down at his knuckles, pink and sore. Gary’s nose had blood pooling around the nostrils and dripping onto the floor. He was whimpering, holding his hands up to block his face. Pete had snapped, not Gary. He punched Gary, attacked him. Everyone stared in shock, without any words leaving anyone’s mouths.

He felt himself be pulled away by two orderlies. Pete didn’t stop staring at Gary, curled up on the floor. One part of him felt glad that he got a taste of his own medicine, the other hated himself for hurting him. Now Gary definitely hated him.. He felt tears running down his cheeks, like they had minds of their own. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm as the orderlies tore him away from the scene.

* * *

 

Just as expected, Gary didn’t talk to him. He supposed that he broke their truce by hitting him. They glared at each other but didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. The look in Gary’s eyes revealed hatred. Angie was afraid of Pete now, she hated fights. He wasn’t thanked for standing up to him but it was his fault. He acted like an animal.

He was alone again, just as he was on day one. He used to count the days until he could leave, now he counted the hours. He just wanted to leave and never see Gary again. He felt sick whenever he thought about the crunching noise his nose made when he had hit it. Pete was depressed, he didn’t feel like participating in group therapy, or eating.

At least he had his spot outside. In the courtyard, he could sit alone behind the shrub. It didn’t feel as nice without Gary. He missed his mother, a lot. His last night offered him some false veil of comfort.

He lied in bed, thinking about leaving and finishing the rest of summer. He would have popsicles, pet his dog and swim at the beach. There was the permanent thought about what he did to Gary. His summer wouldn’t be the same. He didn’t even get to say bye. Not that Gary would want him to.

He heard his door squeak and he sat up quickly. Adrenaline soared in his veins as he blinked in the darkness. Who was it? He heard the mysterious person sit at the edge of his bed. He knew who would sneak out, past the orderlies into his room.

“Gary?” He croaked, his voice hushed as he tried peering into the darkness. He shook his head and reached out to the night table, flicking on the switch. A golden glow cast against the room, casting shadows on his walls and revealing Gary. He didn’t look sad, upset but he looked angry. This is how he would die. “What’re you doing?” He squawked, afraid that Gary did in fact come to kill him.

“Shut up!” He whispered, glaring at him. Pete did, he kept his mouth shut. Gary took a moment to stare at the ceiling. Pete wondered if he used to make shadow puppets as a kid. Pete wanted to know everything about Gary. “I’m sorry that i’ve been a dick.” He apologized, scratching an eyebrow.

“It’s okay.” Pete smiled, relieved that all he came to do was apologize. He felt overjoyed that Gary didn’t hate him. “I’m also sorry for hurting you.” He offered his own apology, not proud about when he punched him.

There was a silence until Gary spoke up. “You’re leaving tomorrow, crack of dawn?” He asked, quietly. Pete nodded, smiling because he could finally go home. “Oh.” Gary sighed, looking down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Guess you’ll leave me here to rot, until September.” It was August, it wasn’t far away but it seemed like years to the both of them. He didn’t appreciate Gary trying to guilt trip him but liked the attention.

“No, that’s not fair, I’ll be there at Bullworth.” He argued, shaking his head. Gary nodded, understanding what he meant but kept his frown evident on his face. “I should get some sleep, you should leave, Gary.” He whispered, blinking. He was exhausted, he felt like sleeping for decades.

He nodded, standing up to leave. Instead of turning to the door, he paused and quickly grabbed Pete’s shoulders and pecked his lips. It was squishy and weird but not unpleasant. He somehow expected kissing to be magical and passionate but it ended as soon as it started. He felt faint as he grinned at Gary, feeling like he was about to giggle like a schoolgirl. He snorted slightly with amusement-even when he was freaking out internally.

They stared at each other. Pete struggled to say something but he managed to croak out words. “I’m going to miss you.” He didn’t care about sleep anymore, he just wanted to be kissed again. He wanted to hug and hold him now that he knew he liked him. He reached out for Gary’s hand, grabbing it and holding it. Calloused fingers intertwined with his. Everything felt right, like the universe had balance. Somebody could be dying and Pete wouldn’t acknowledge it. At that moment, he was the luckiest boy on earth.

“I’m going to miss you too..” Gary pulled his hand away and snuck out the door, not turning to look at him another time. Pete wanted to replay that moment like a broken record-a broken Roy Orbison one.

* * *

 

The next morning, at five in the morning, he was led outside to the front. His mother stood there, much more ‘summered’ than him. She was much more tanner while she wore her denim sundress. It was ugly, but he never told her that. She rushed over to him, hugging him tightly. He almost thought he would die of asphyxiation. He hugged back because he missed her and he liked gaining her attention.

They left the building. The sun began to rise over the asylum, splashing the sky with pink and vibrant oranges. The colour of summer, no.. The colour of summer to him was the green grass that Gary and him lied on during recreation hours. All his thoughts were: Gary, Gary, Gary..

He really hoped he didn’t become obsessed. As they got in her SUV, he looked into his duffel. There was a folded piece of paper, the car started to drive. She turned on the AC before she turned on the radio. Quiet jazz filled the car as she chattered about how great the rest of his summer would be. He believed her.

He took out the piece of paper and unfolded it. He stared at the words on the paper, figuring Gary snuck it into his duffel when he came into his room the night before. The night he kissed him. The night when Pete wasn’t mad anymore.

He beamed as he read the words that Gary had written: _By the way, I do dance and I do sing to music, just so you know -G._


End file.
